Ma, I've Got Meself Locked Up in the Mad House

by Martha Long

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ I said, understanding. ‘I’m eating! She annoyed me!’ I pointed to the Dragon lady, who said nothing but just shook her head at me, smiling.

  God! I’m eating again. Now I won’t be so weak. Ah! I thought. The tom-toms were in action. They’re just happy I’m eating after all this time. Word spreads fast in this place! Then it hit me. I’m in a place where people care whether I live or die! I’m accepted! They see the madness coming out in me. They see me at my worst! Yet to them I’m still Martha. Suddenly, hot tears started pouring down me cheeks. For the first time in me life, I know what it feels like to belong. Yeah! Even if it is the mad house!

  I was lying on the bed reading when I felt the air change around me and a shadow come creeping in. My head shot around to see the Russian monk stalking into the room. I watched him make his way on feet lifting and softly landing on the carpet. I have never seen an Irish person walk like that. It is the way the Italian gigolos walk when they’re pushing the old ladies in their wheelchairs along the French and Italian Riviera. I have seen them. The women stare out through Gucci sunglasses, keeping their expensive freshly coiffured wigs in place, with an ugly-looking rat sitting on their laps that’s supposed to pass for a dog. They puff and clench their false teeth on long silver cigarette holders and get Gigi the gigolo to run, upsetting his hairdo, because a couple of hairs are blowing on his lovingly nurtured head. Now his swagger is ruined. Because he has to take a few extra steps to get himself moving. ‘Sugar Mammy’ has demanded he run to the nice little man there and fetch her a cornet. ‘Where, my sweet little rose petal?’ he squeaks, turning his head slowly, anxious to do her bidding. ‘Don’t you see? The little fat man! He is serving ice cream from his little cart.’

  ‘What are you reading?’ the monk asked, bending down to look at the cover.

  ‘War and Peace,’ I said with due gravity, feeling incredibly intellectual. I could just as easily be caught reading The Beano! I kept that thought to myself.

  ‘So!’ he said, lifting himself to his full height. He’s not that tall, I mused, looking up at him. Then he stuck his barrel chest out. But he is so – I took a sharp intake of breath – incredibly well packaged. The lunch I just had – second meal of the day – was doing its work. Getting my life force moving.

  ‘Sorry! What did you say?’ I asked, shaking my head, the mind always wandering.

  ‘You like the Russians?’

  ‘What Russian?’ I stared at him, my eyes crossing in confusion.

  ‘This book!’ he said, stabbing my book with his big thick index finger, then waving his hands, looking very annoyed.

  ‘Oh! You mean Tolstoy. Oh, yes, eh, I like the Russians very much!’ I said, giving him the once-over. His lovely blond hair, it changes colour every time I see him. Today it’s definitely all gold! And his ‘Oh! I’m so sleepy’ eyes are pools of raw sex! I stared at his face – gold! No! It’s honey-coloured, and his nose is chiselled to perfection. What a handsome brute!

  ‘Have you read this?’ I asked, trying to get a breath.

  ‘But of course!’ he said, waving his hands. ‘I have studied all the classics,’ he said, putting the full force of his eyes on me. Searching through my eyes, trying to get to my soul, looking for my secrets. My eyes glued to his every movement. If his hand moved, my head shot to follow it. If a muscle twitched in his face, I caught it, drinking him in.

  God! I’ve got it bad. Never before have I chased a man. No, definitely not. I’m usually running for my life in the other direction! This is great fun!

  He walked over to the window, gazing off into the distance. The distance between us was too great for me; he had walked three feet away from me. Without taking my eyes off him, I climbed out of the bed, leaving one foot between us. I’m not brazen! I don’t like to let men know if I’m interested. I prefer they first nail their colours to the mast. I can’t cope with rejection, and I don’t like humiliation. So I keep my emotional distance. Let them do the running!

  ‘Why are you not out there? Why must you be here?’ he suddenly boomed at me, with his plummy, deep velvet voice still singing off the walls and bouncing back to land in my ears again. I followed the sweep of his big strong hand, attached to the powerful masculine arm, and sucked in air, my head giving a sudden rattle with the breath getting caught in my windpipe. I leaned on the window, looking down at the small specks of houses.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, feeling my heart sinking down into my belly. ‘But I ate this morning!’ I said, smiling up at him, feeling hope creep up my chest.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, keeping his face still, speaking quietly. Then he turned and wandered out the door as if we had not spoken to each other! I watched him go, still trying to make him out.

  38

  * * *

  I woke up, giving a big stretch, curling my toes to the end of the bed, or at least trying – I’m not that long.

  ‘Come for breakfast!’

  I lifted my head, squinting in the direction of the voice. The voice came from the arse waving at me as it pushed the water-bottle trolley out the door.

  ‘You must get up now,’ the arse said, in a mournful monotone.

  The Russian monk! I felt cheered. The sight of him makes my day.

  I leapt out, grabbing my dressing gown, heading off to the dining room. Right! Where will I sit? My eyes peeled around the room and fell on a glamorous-looking blonde in her forties. She was sitting next to an elderly woman in her sixties who was talking away ninety to the dozen. But the blonde wasn’t paying a blind bit of notice to what the woman was saying. She was more interested in giving me her attention, or more, the long rubber rollers I had plastered all round my head.

  Sister Eleanor had finally managed to stagger in, bringing me up a huge suitcase full of stuff. She must think I’m moving in here permanently. But it’s great having my own stuff. I marched over to the table with the blonde, and she stared up at my hair rollers with the ends pointing up to the ceiling, giving the impression I’m giving the V sign to everyone.

  ‘Hi!’ she said, giving me a flash of her snow-white capped gnashers.

  ‘Hi!’ I said. ‘What’s for breakfast?’ I asked, sitting down next to the old woman.

  ‘I’m having the bran, with a fry-up,’ said Blondie, pointing at her plate. ‘It’s good for the bowels!’

  ‘Yeah!’ said the aul one. ‘There’s an awful lot of cancer of the bowel these days. I think I’ll have some. BROTHER!’ and she turned around with a mouthful of sausage and gave an unmerciful scream. ‘Can I have a bit of bran for me bowels!’ Spitting sausage everywhere and spraying me.

  I jumped up, saying, ‘Aw, fuck! Mind where ye’re bloody spitting!’ and rushed around the table, planking myself next to the blonde. She was screaming laughing, and I grabbed the serviette and started wiping my face. I was disgusted and glared at the aul one.

  ‘We were all young once,’ she snarled at me, jiggling her false teeth up and down. ‘Your turn will come soon enough, an be the state of ye, you won’t have long to wait!’ she sniffed, pointing her fork at my skinny body. Then she dug her fork into a big fry-up, loading her mouth with half an egg, sausage and a bit of rasher. Then dripped it down her chin, landing a bit of egg after it. I watched it flop onto her big chest, and she bent down, ready to lick it up, but then thought better of it and used the fork to scrape it off, losing her false teeth, and the whole lot landed on her plate. The blonde went hysterical, leaning herself into the table, screaming with the laugh. Then she landed her elbows on her plate, bashing her fists on the table, trying to get a breath. I watched the rasher clinging to her black mohair jumper, and the lovely white-pink egg ending up all squashed.

  The aul one muttered, ‘The curse a Jaysus!’ as she rubbed the bits of runny egg off the teeth and shoved them back in her mouth.

  ‘Ah, fuck this! I’m not sitting here!’ I looked around for somewhere else to sit. Too late! All the tables are full. The nurse clapped down a plate of rashers and sausage
s and fried egg for me, and a bowl of bran for the aul one.

  ‘Are you all right, Maggie?’ the nurse said, taking the plate from Maggie.

  ‘Will ye leave me to eat me breakfast in peace?’ she said, grabbing back the plate with the bit of rasher left.

  The nurse grinned, throwing the eye at me to see if I was going to eat. I was starved and started to make short work of it before she even left the table. Even Maggie was not going to put me off eating all around me.

  ‘Where did you get those rollers?’ the blonde asked me.

  ‘In the chemist,’ I said, looking to see what else I could eat.

  ‘Your hair will hang in long sausages,’ the blonde said, laughing and eyeing my curlers.

  ‘Yeah! I’m hoping to play Bette Davies in the remake of What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?’ I said, keeping my face neutral.

  She started laughing like a horse neighing! Then Maggie waved a slice of toast with half a pound of butter lathered on and roared excitedly, ‘I saw tha fillum, years ago! Me an me poor husband did. He’s dead now, Lord rest him! Tha one tried te kill her poor sister! An she in a wheelchair! Helpless she was! Yeah! I remember it now.

  ‘We sat eatin tubs of ice-cream, an yer woman was after the sister’s house! Tha’s right! It’s all comin back te me now,’ she said, staring into the distance, with her eyes fogging over and her mind flying back down through the years. ‘It was over . . . Oh my God! It must be twenty years or more since that fillum was made.’

  ‘Plates! Give me your plates, ladies!’

  My head shot up and I was staring into the eyes of the Russian monk. He flopped down his big bushy eyelashes, turning away from me with a bored expression. I was disappointed – not even a smile! Blondie swished herself around, sticking out her chest and crossing her legs, showing off her silk Christian Dior chocolate-coloured frock that clung to all her curves, and gave him a big smile, showing off her horse’s gnashers.

  ‘Ohh! You’re back on duty, Brother Sebastian.’

  ‘Yes!’ he said, giving her a come-to-bed smile with his sleepy eyes, and letting them sweep all over her curves!

  She ran her greasy hands all over her belly and up under her ample knockers, sighing. ‘Oh! You feed us too well here. I’ll have to go on a diet when I go home!’ she breathed in a whiny, little girl voice.

  I looked at her with disgust. You would think an aul one her age would have more sense! Carrying on like that!

  I was raging. Then fuck-face, the Russian, gives her a big grin, and says, ‘I think you will get all the exercise you need from your husband when you get home!’

  I was shocked and stared at his face. He was staring, with a glint in his eye, and forgetting to collect his dirty plates, as he busied himself getting comfortable, crossing his ankles and leaning his arm on Blondie’s chair.

  ‘Oh, so you like married women?’ I snarled, glaring at him.

  ‘Of course! They are more fun than the young girls!’

  Blondie cackled like a witch and had the cheek to put her arm around his shoulder and bring his neck down to whisper in his ear.

  I watched him listening, his arm going around her waist. ‘Ohh!’ he said, lifting his head and widening his huge green eyes. I never really got a good look at them before. ‘You are a very naughty girl!’ he said, waving his finger at her.

  ‘Ah! There’s many a sweet tune played on an old fiddle!’ crowed Maggie, sucking on her false teeth and drawing up her arms. Then she wrapped them around her chest, as she lifted her shoulders, giving her head a shake, showing a glint in her eye. ‘Oh, indeed, there is!’ she muttered, watching the two of them enjoying themselves no end.

  I sat glaring at the monk with my arms crossed, my hair rollers standing up on my head, knowing I would have to do something about this before the blonde one grabbed him from under my nose. ‘Where are you from, Maggie?’ I asked, ignoring the two.

  ‘I live over this side now. But I was born an reared in the Liberties.’

  ‘Ah, no? So was I!’ I said, looking at her, delighted to meet someone who wasn’t originally a culchie.

  ‘Well, ye certainly wouldn’t know it te listen to you! Where’d ye get tha accent from, might I ask?’ she said, looking like I had committed a crime.

  ‘I gave meself elocution lessons, Maggie!’ I said, looking at her lived-in face, as she chomped on her false teeth, narrowing her eyes with suspicion, trying to make me out. ‘It’s a long time now, Maggie. I’m living over this side for years.’

  ‘Whereabouts did ye live?’ she asked me, narrowing her eyes to slits, not believing me.

  ‘Just off Thomas Street.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I know tha well, very well indeed. Sure, I used te go te school in Francis Street. Oh, yeah! And all them before me. Oh, indeed!’ she said, lifting her chest and leaning her head over, nodding it slowly at me, wanting me to know she’s an expert, and there’d be no fooling her on the Liberties. Then she went quiet, letting her mind wander and her eyes fix into the distance, getting lost in her memories.

  ‘OK,’ the monk said slowly, with a big sigh of contentment as he lifted himself up off the blonde’s chair after nearly suffocating himself with his head stuck in her big chest while supposedly only leaning over her shoulder, feeling the mohair, wanting to know what kind of wool it was. ‘It is time to move, ladies.’

  I gave him a filthy look and took off out of the dining room, saying goodbye to Maggie. The blonde stood up, balancing herself on huge high heels, and pulled down her silk frock that was nearly exposing the top of her knickers. Then she bent down and ran her hands the length of her legs, pulling her nylons up, exposing her meaty thighs, and wriggled her arse to let her frock sink down, trying to look sexy. Then she coaxed her hair to stand up in a wave on the top of her head.

  I was looking back with my mouth hanging open in disgust. ‘She thinks she’s bleedin Marilyn Monroe!’ I snorted, heading out the door. And she giggled, clattering out of the room behind me, saying, ‘I’d better get ready for occupational therapy. Brother Sebastian has just told me he’s taking us down.’

  My heart gave a leap! Right! I’m going down there too. I took off for the bedroom, grabbing my washbag and towel, heading into the bathroom for a quick bath. When I get out, I’m going to make myself look gorgeous. My heart started leppin with excitement. It’s me or the blonde! No way is she getting her red-nail-polished bony fingers on him!

  I galloped from the bathroom out of breath, still trying to steady my pins after starving myself for so long. Now for the make-up bag. I emptied the lot onto the bed, whipping up the make-up and wetting the sponge, trying to smooth it all over my face. I squinted into a little hand mirror and relaxed my face, hoping to see beauty. ‘Jesus!’ I gasped, staring at myself with disappointment in the mirror. I look like someone resurrected, plastered with make-up, and now there’s a grinning skull leering back at me. I might look better with eye shadow. Deep brown for the lids, now lighter gold above that. I stared – not bad! Now white-pink for under the eyebrow. Hmm! Now two layers of mascara! I blinked. Aah! Fuck! I smudged my eyelid!

  ‘You are coming now, please, with me, to therapy?’

  My head swung around in shock. Ah, fuck! The monk! I stared with my black eye, watching his eyebrows raise slowly, his eyes dancing in his head, his mouth ready, wondering if it was worth a good laugh. Then he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He lowered his lashes and his nostrils flared as he lifted his face away, heading back out the door.

  ‘Oh, yeah! Don’t go without me!’ I roared at his back. ‘Sister said I’m allowed down today!’ I mewled, the steam going out of me, feeling very foolish.

  ‘Yes!’ he said, looking back over his shoulder. ‘But if you are not ready in . . .’ and the creep looked at his watch, as if he could go off quite happily without me, then looked again at my black eye and said, flapping down his brushes, covering his eyes and turning away, leaving me with the heart sinking inta me belly button, feeling disappointed I couldn’t make mesel
f good looking, ‘ . . . ten minutes, we shall leave without you.’

  Ah, go and fuck yourself! I wanted to scream with annoyance, embarrassment and humiliation

  I swung back to my mirror, staring, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. I can’t get that glamour look of the blonde! ‘A thousand curses on the lot of them,’ I snorted, roaring at the door, then whipping my face back to the mirror and staring. Right! Rub it gently with the finger. This is excruciating, trying to rub off the black without taking off the eye shadow and starting again.

  I was anxious to look beautiful and get moving before the blonde had too much time with him. Now, suck in the cheeks. Jaysus! I looked like death warmed up! Now, brush on rouge from the cheeks to the brow, a little on the chin. Lovely! Then I sucked in my lips. Now for the lipstick. Try putting on different colours, see what it turns out like. I peered closely at the result of four different colours. It’s sort of green, looks a bit like gangrene of the mouth. But it’s different! Yeah! Leave it on. I peered in the mirror, blowing kisses at meself. Hmm! I look interesting. Right! Get moving.

  I threw everything back in the bag, then had another look at meself, staring in the mirror, still not sure. Huge haunted and hunted eyes stared out of a skeleton that looked like a tragic figure just arriving out of Auschwitz.

  No! Not really the picture I had of myself standing aloof, sucking on a long silver cigarette holder with a black More’s cigarette sticking out of the end, examining the monk through grey smouldering eyes and blowing big wafts of smoke into his face, watching him squirm, but unable to turn his head away, mesmerised by my beauty!

  Yeah! A woman of mystery. A bit like Marlene Dietrich. I could even get her height if I wore twelve-inch knee-high leather boots. Yeah! I better start eating. I need at least two stone to get me up to eight stone. Eight and a half would give me the sexy curves of the blonde!